


A Heartbeat's Decision

by nihilisticspacebear



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: A bunch of "what if" scenarios based on my World State, Angst and Feels, Bethany Hawke as the Champion of Kirkwall, Gen, Hurt, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:53:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26665483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nihilisticspacebear/pseuds/nihilisticspacebear
Summary: Written for the weekly Reddit Thread, 26th September 2020:The ChallengeThe Black Emporium has a new item: Aspersorium of Zinovia, named after the famed mage who had visions of the future, and was the consort of Archon Valerius.Codex Entry: It is a large font, made out of white stone, and the water is about a foot deep. The water feels cool to the touch, and is enchanted to activate when three ounces of lyrium are carefully dripped into it, clockwise. The lyrium activates a spell that has been officially lost to history- we do not have a name for it now, we simply know this spell gives you insights and visions of alternate futures, pasts, and presents- where you see someone else in your place, making different decisions, choices- where you see different consequences.Be very careful when using this. Visitors who have used this for long periods of time, have been known to go insane or simply die from the fumes that the lyrium gives off when it is being dripped into the basin.
Relationships: Alistair/Amell (Dragon Age), Female Amell/Zevran Arainai, Female Lavellan/Solas, Fenris/Male Hawke, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	A Heartbeat's Decision

**Amell:**

  
Three drops of lyrium trickle into the pool but nothing seems to be happening. _Is this thing even working?_

  
There's a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach and frost etching the oh, so sharp edge of the blade in her hand, a slight tell of her apprehension as she presses it against the elf's throat. Alistair's gaze weighs heavy on her shoulders. _I hate you_ , she wants to tell him. _I hate this thing you're making me become._ Many have died at her hand since the Joining but this is unlike any other kill, cold and deliberate. Leliana offers to do it in her stead, yet Solona hears herself refuse. The burden will be hers.

 _No, this isn't what happened!_ But it could have - she had let him live on a whim alone.

The vision shifts and Solona thinks that's it. However, upon closer inspection, she isn't touching the font but something else - the base of a statue. Her hands are dirty and there is mud on her dress - she's been planting roses. There is a nameplate too:

"In loving memory of ser Alistair Therein, Hero of Ferelden."

Then she is back in the darkness of the Emporium, a tiny bear gnawing at the leather of her boot.

**Hawke:**

  
"This place is a little creepy," whispers Merrill, shuddering.

"You know you shouldn't be here when even the blood mage is afraid," Fenris sneers at no one in particular. 

Heart pounding in his chest, Garrett isn't listening, focused on counting the drops of lyrium that fall into the pool.

"I miss him," says Bethany. 

"He'd want us to make a life here," Carver replies, wrapping a protective arm across her shoulders. "We have to stick together, mother needs us more than ever."

"What about the Templars?"

"I'll keep you safe."

  
***

  
"Are those," Bethany pauses, eyeing him warily, "flowers?"

Fenris shifts his weight, avoiding her gaze.

"Yes," he says.

"I'm still a mage, you know."

"That I haven't forgotten."

  
***

"I'm sorry, Sunshine."

"It's alright, Varric. I miss him dearly but at least he's alive, thank the Maker."

"Actually, thank Anders."

"Yes, thank me, I'm great!" 

They all laugh.

  
***

  
"I know you," says Cullen. "I've seen you around town and i've had my suspicions but forgive me if I do ask: why now?"

  
Someone obviously tried very hard to make the room look less like a cell but their efforts only made the bars at the window and the heavy armored door stand out more. Beth sits on the edge of a narrow bed. The Circle robes she's wearing create a similar contrast when paired with her fresh scars. 

"Huh?" She tilts her head absently, as if she were only now noticing the knight captain. 

"You saved the city. They would have named you Champion." He tries to catch her gaze, to read her reaction. "Lord Vael is still intent on marrying you, he's even pleaded with Grand Cleric Elthina to ask Commander Meredith to make an exception in your case."

"So?" She shrugs.

"Why turn yourself in now? You seemed to be doing well, for an apostate."

This time, Beth looks him in the eye when she speaks.

"Well?" She nearly cries, her voice cracking under the weight of her pain. "Is that what it looks like to you? Is that what you see, serrah? I lost one of my brothers getting here. The other one got conscripted into the Grey Wardens not three years ago and I haven't seen him since. My mother was murdered and I couldn't do a thing. And how many lie dead now because of my mistakes? Because I hid my powers thinking it would save the people I love? You speak of Lord Vael - he sent me here. I'm tired of running, I never asked for this. For once I wish I could look up to the Templars for the protection they claim to provide. So do your damn job, Knight Captain!"

  
***

  
Rain - heavy, oppressive, dark - pouring down on them, washing away her tears as she kneels beside an all too familiar body. 

"It was his choice," says Anders. 

"But it was you who forced him into making it," retorts Merrill. 

"Don't blame the inevitable on me. I did this for all our sakes."

"Drop it, Blondie."

"Yeah, now's hardly the time for this," adds Isabela, unable to take her eyes off the fallen elf. 

The mage opens his mouth, ready to argue some more but Beth faces him, rage so hot it turns the rain to steam. 

"This is your fault," she says bitterly, taking one menacing step in his direction. "Don't you dare imply otherwise." Another step. "I lost my home, I lost my love, I lost my friend."

She pounds a tiny fist against his chest. 

"If Fenris were your friend, he wouldn't have pulled a sword on you," shouts Anders. "Had Sebastian truly loved you, he'd have accepted you for who you are. As for the Circle, it was never anyone's home."

Lightning crackles at her call but it strikes shy of him. Instead of another killing blow, Beth delivers a heartrending cry. 

"Begone," she tells him and the vision ends.

"Hawke?" asks Fenris. "Get off! Why are you sobbing like that? I told you not to touch the thing." 

Garrett just sniffles, face buried in his shoulder. 

"There, there," mutters Merrill, patting his back while squinting at the inscription on the font. "Whatever you saw, it isn't real, says so right here."

**Lavellan:**

  
"Are you sure you want to try this, Amatus?" says Dorian, handing him a vial of lyrium.

"Why not? It sounds like fun."

"I wouldn't put much stock in such visions. They surely didn't help Archon Valerius at the time."

"Can't be worse than losing an arm to the damn Dread Wolf."

"Have it your way but on one condition, " Dorian pauses, holding the lyrium just out of reach. "One peek only, to quell that scholarly curiosity of yours. No second glances. The more you look, the worse it gets."

"No second glances, got it," nods Mahanon, reaching for the vial with a childish grin plastered on his face. "Wait, you've done this before, haven't you?"

"I might have."

"What did you see?"

"Impossible things," Dorian smiles and waves him away.

The first thing he notices is his left arm, unharmed. The next is the copper-headed toddler pulling on it. 

"Father, father, come!" 

Taken with surprise, he follows the tug.

"Slow down, da'len! Where are we going?"

"She's here! The Herald!"

He doesn't have to ask who - he'd recognize her anywhere, except today she is different.

"Sylvanin?" 

At the sound of his voice, she turns to face him and his breath stops. Her face is bare, clear but for the freckles and a few faint scars. Around her neck, an eerily familiar jawbone dangles from a leather cord.

"I can explain," her deep green eyes are wet, her tone apologetic. The Anchor is gone.

"So it is true," he hears himself speak. The words, however, belong to the vision, not to him. They are the first of many, terrible ones. 

Sylvanin reels back, cradling what's left of her arm, unable to look him in the eye. 

"Bold of you to return, lethallan," says another familiar voice behind him as Ellana walks up to them, heavy with child. "Yet it begs the question - why?"

"To tell you the truth," his sister says. 

"The truth? From Fen'harel?" Ellana scoffs. "Not even you can be so blind."

"Leave," says the Mahanon in this realm. _She is telling the truth, you ignorant oaf_ , he wants to shout. "Take your lies and your Inquisition back to the shemlen. You've no place here among the clan, harellan."

He watches his sister break down and cry. Others turn away and spit. Some hurl insults, some hurl threats. A small rock flies her way but bounces off a promptly cast barrier and Dorian swoops in, wrapping a protective arm around her narrow shoulders.

"Inquisitor," he says, adding softly in her ear: "Want me to scare them away?"

"There will be no need for that," she whispers, turning to leave. "But thank you nonetheless."

"Well?" Dorian's smug face next to his own startles him awake.

"You were right," Mahanon gasps and nods. "Horrible, impossible things."


End file.
